


Sweet Skies

by whiskerbeast



Series: Small World [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Small World AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2011-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:51:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskerbeast/pseuds/whiskerbeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat isn't all that fond of bees or Sollux, but such is life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Skies

“What the almighty fuck are you doing?” he asks you, and you feel all of the muscles in your body curl up into little tiny knots.

“I’m beekeeping, asshole. What does it look like I’m doing?” You glare over your shoulder at him, well aware that the netting covering your face isn’t doing much to make you look threatening.

“Ith that what you call it? Lookth more like killing shit to me.”

You huff in response and tug another silicomb from its shelf, raising another cloud of bees from their nests with a loud chorused “bthzzz.” You’re probably more forceful with it than you need to be, because suddenly he’s not really joking at you or just letting it happen anymore, and he grabs your wrists and hisses, “Thweet thkieth, Karkat, put the thilicomb down.”

There’s really no reason for him to order you, considering that he’s snagged it from your hands before you can react, restoring it to its shelf with an acidic glare shot in your direction, bi-colored eyes narrowed through his tinted goggles. You’re the only one who knows about the eyes, and it makes you feel really stupid every time you repeat that fact in your stupid head with that stupid little squish in your heart. Who cares who knows about his creepy, mutant eyes? Not you, that’s for sure.

“Calm down, shit,” you say, folding your arms across your chest. Sollux is always freaking out about his bees, so you can’t say you’re surprised, but honestly, you’d think you’d been stomping on them or something. His shoulders are all tense and angular now as he shuffles through the shelves you’ve cleared out already, finding them with unerring accuracy and making sure the frames are in one piece. It’s a process you both cycle through several times a week: you getting mindhoney out of the silicombs, him coming back from wherever the almighty shit he disappears to and getting pissed off because you’re “doing it wrong.” You’re pretty sure he’s banned you from beekeeping at least three times, but he always gives up and lets you back in, and you really hate these bees but you’re still kind of stupidly happy every time he tosses the gloves at you again.

Sollux runs a hand over his face, half-propped against one of the sturdier bee stands as he lets out this huge whoosh of breath.

“You’re thuch a fucking idiot,” he says, looking up at you with a frown twisting his mouth all around. His eyebrows are furrowed, which is a funny look paired with the goggles, but you’re kind of used to it by now. He frowns a lot.

“Beekeeping isn’t exactly the ultimate manifestation of intelligence, jackass. And anyway, what the hell else is there for me to do around here?” You glare up at him, eyes all narrow and rage-filled.

He feeds into the thing you’re starting, learning forward and hissing, “Look, you inconthiderate, knucklethponged athhole,” right in your face. Spit is all over your cheeks even through the netting, his teeth and tongue rebelling against all the ‘s’s in the sentence kind of violently. “Thethe beeth are more important than the idle timethuck you theem to think they are. You know how fucking valuable thith honey ith, tho thtop giving me shit about actually giving a flying fuck what happenth to them. You know ath well ath I do that we live off thethe noithy athholeth, tho jutht back off.”

“Fucking skies,” you say, taking a step back and pulling the stupid bee hat off of your head to wipe at the saliva all over your face with your sleeve. “I get it, okay, don’t blow your fucking top. I’m so tired of you fucking lecturing me. I’m not some brainless wriggler, okay? I was schoolfed just as thoroughly as you, you sanctimonious shitsponge.”

He makes a noise at you, something like a scoff, like “psh” said with a lisp--“pthhh”--and just looks generally pissed off.

“No, seriously. I’m fucking tired of it. Just...skies. Fuck it,” you say, chucking the hat in your hand across the room. Your irritation peaks, blood boiling, and you’re pretty sure your cheeks are flushing. You’re really tired of this argument, the whole “you’re terrible at thith” thing. Eighty thousand repeats should be enough for the two of you, but obviously Sollux can’t resist an eighty thousand-and-first go-round. You studiously ignore the fact that you provoked the argument. It’s just really stupid. They’re just bees. “I’m leaving,” you say, and you turn to go, hands clenched inside the gloves you’ve forgotten you’re wearing. You really mean it this time, too. You’re going to leave and find other work, you’re really going to do it this time. You’re not putting up with this shit anymore, seriously.

There’s a grunt from behind you, and you turn back to see Sollux staring at you with this look on his face like “wait no, what, don’t leave,” and you swallow hard without really knowing why.

“Maybe you should jutht...not touch the beeth,” he says carefully, tugging at the side of his goggles, still staring at you. “There’re errandth I could have you do or thomething, and I pull more honey out of thethe thingth than you do anyway.”

There’s this pause, and you narrow your eyes at him, because you’ve heard this before, the whole “you’ll just do other stuff now” thing. Three days from now, it’ll be the same shit. Whatever, you’re tired of this whole--

“And anyway, it’th a bad idea for you to try to get another job. Motht thtuff that’th thtill open would put you in danger of hurting yourthelf, and then they’d know about your blood. Do errandth, I won’t athk you to touch the beeth again.” He folds his skinny arms across his chest, watching you process intently.

Why do you do this shit? You wonder about it a lot. Skies, it’s not like he ever asks you to touch the fucking bees in the first place. You just do it because it’s all there is to do, just bees and more fucking bees. But whatever, life could be worse than arguing a lot, you guess, and he’s right. Another job would have you bleeding red all over the place, and you’d get culled instantly.

You shrug finally, doing your best to look unimpressed.

“Fine, whatever,” you say, “But I’m still leaving. I do have to go home sometimes.” Play it off like you weren’t just about to storm out of there like a prissy princess, yeah.

He doesn’t look like he believes that little cover, because he smirks this stupid, asshole-ish smirk with his teeth all hanging out, and you more than a little want to punch him in his stupid, smug face.

“Fuck off, mutant,” he says, turning back to the bee mainframes. “Thee you tomorrow.”


End file.
